


fragments

by tidaline



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Parallel Universe, also switching names and locations across different timelines, send help, wherein only one of them remembers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:51:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6157149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tidaline/pseuds/tidaline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Koushi never found an answer as to why he and Daichi had been trapped in this anomaly for centuries. Yet, he has lived enough lives to establish that there were only two things constant across all his previous lives: One, Daichi could never remember. Two, Koushi could never forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miyagi, Japan || October 2015

**zero: [Miyagi, Japan | October 2015]**

Today, Sugawara Koushi is sprawled on the floor, heaving as he finishes his third set of diving drills. From the corner of his eye, he spots the vague, yet unmistakable, figure of Sawamura Daichi, bathed in the sunlight, entering the gym with boxes upon boxes of sporting goods in his arms. Koushi almost calls out to him to ask if he needed a helping hand, but Koushi knew from experience that the answer was almost always a no. No matter how much Koushi tugs at his sleeves. 

Without breaking a sweat, Daichi entrusts the goods to Kiyoko and Yachi and quickly catches up to do his fair share of diving drills. As if running arounds campus, back and forth, just to transport the supplies wasn’t tiresome enough for Daichi, he would always push himself to do the same amount of drills (sometimes even more) as the rest of the team. Despite Koushi’s reassurance that he need not to.

Koushi can’t quite tell whether it was their devastating loss to Seijoh, or the fact that they were playing their final year in Karasuno that further fueled Daichi’s desire to win. Perhaps this was Daichi’s way of leaving a mark. He was never the type to bask in the glory of the spot light, nor the type to cut corners. Sawamura Daichi was strong and steady— the kind of guy that everyone adored and wanted to be around. A great captain. A team player. A solid dude.  
Of course, Daichi has always been this kind of person. In this life, and the ones that had gone before. For this, Koushi could never mistake Daichi for any other man. Despite the fact that Daichi’s appearance or name would ever-so-slightly change throughout various lifetimes, something in Koushi’s heart would go off— like a loud alarum bell— every time he would meet another one of Daichi’s reincarnation. 

Not that Daichi, in all his previous forms, ever recalls meeting Koushi in his past lives. Nor was he aware that, just like Koushi, he had been reborn over and over again throughout history. In spite of all his efforts, Koushi never found an answer as to why he and Daichi had been trapped in this anomaly for centuries. Yet, he has lived enough lives to establish that there were only two things constant across all his previous lives: One, Daichi could never remember. Two, Koushi could never forget.  
Today, he goes by the name Sugawara Koushi— a young Japanese boy with hair the color of moonbeam and a small beauty mark perched in the corner of his left cheek. And, while it may seem like there might not be much to the small town in Miyagi which he calls home, it is here he meets seventeen year-old Daichi Sawamura. His co-captain. His best friend. The star-crossed love of his life.

“Oi, Suga!” From across the court, Daichi yells as goes in for his final dive “Can you toss for me?”  
The corner of Koushi’s lips curl slightly. “Always,” Koushi wants to say, in the most earnest and heartfelt way. As if to tell him that an always does exist for them. Even if Koushi sometimes wishes there wasn’t.

But instead, he shifts to his token bright smile and chirpy tone.

“Sure thing!” he says, in a way that is almost visceral. 

Koushi makes his way over to Daichi with the slightest skip in his step and his heartbeat picking up pace. As he closes the distance, Koushi looks up at Daichi— dark brown eyes, short dark hair, and large build. Suddenly, it was as if Koushi could see fragments of each and every version of Daichi he has loved across time and space fading into one person.  
Koushi’s hands turn into fists, his knuckles whitening from pressure. 

He knows he had long tired of finding a loophole out of this time warp— instead settling to savor each moment with his beloved. Yet, in spite of himself, he feels a sliver of hope, a familiar feeling he thought he had long forgotten, running through his veins again.

He curses under his breath and looks up at Daichi, eyeing him with the slightest tint of worry. 

Koushi knows that the world is not a wish-granting factory. Nor was the type to pray to a god he doesn’t believe in. Yet, at his very moment, he can’t help but hope that if the universe could ever be so kind, maybe this would the they life where they can both just stay.


	2. The city of Troy| 1194–1184 BC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: FOOLS by Troye Sivan.
> 
> First parallel universe out of many. Have a good read!
> 
> [fixed a bunch of typos hehe]

**one: [The city of Troy| 1194–1184 BC]**

Kreios watches as his fellow soldiers fiddle with the weapons in their hands, soon to be wet with blood. His spear is tucked carefully under his brass shield, dirtied with the flecks of blood. Unlike the others, he refuses to lay a hand on them both. Not until the time comes, that is.

In this condition, he can almost feel their breath against his skin as they exchange cheers of excitement. They say that Troy had it coming, you see. That war was inevitable. That no one should ever dare to strike a match with Menelaus and his brother Agamemnon. Kreios knew that, after the loss of countless men such as the honorable hero Achilles, Agamemnon was bounds to take matters into his own hands and find and end to it once and for all. So tonight, they wait. For in just a few hours, they will take the city of Troy by storm.    

However, Kreios doesn’t want to be here.

In fact, Kreios can’t seem to understand why he found himself here, rendezvoused inside a wooden horse with men stronger than he. Kreios was aware he wasn’t the strongest nor toughest soldier in the line. He knew many other back home who would’ve been far fit for the position. Yet, Agamemnon insisted. _You’ve got brains_ , Kreios remembers his commander saying to him, before leaving for the expedition, _and that’s why you’re still alive up to this day_. Kreios doesn’t dare argue with his superior. He’s a survivor, at best.

Kreios hears rustling from below. All at once, he and the others grip their spears and take hold of their shields. A single head emerges from hatch, illuminating the insides of the horse.

“It’s almost time” a soldier disguised in Trojan attire relays, “Our men are near. Let us open the gates and welcome the end of Troy!”  
With that, the soldiers push on the sides of the interior and undo the ropes, deconstructing the body of the horse. Kreios makes his way down, steadily rappelling down the side. They rush toward the gates where, indeed, thousands of soldiers were waiting in the dark on the other side. Kreios stands back as the others open the gate, causing the earth to shake. From the corner of his eye he could see Trojan soldiers, frantically yelling at the others to call for reinforcements. Of course, it was far too late to round up their entire army. In a blink of an eye, the gates were hoisted above, making way for the Achaeans.

By tomorrow, the city of Troy would be reduced to ashes and debris.

The Trojan army emerges from the citadel in visible panic. A line of archers take their aim while the Achaeans ready their defenses. A heavy silences looms above the two armies like a dust cloud, covering the atmosphere.

Kreios hears the line of Trojan arrows being shot and suddenly, all he hears is white noise.

The Acheaean army charges forwards and more and more Trojan soldiers enter the battlefield. Still, it is clear that the Trojan army is outnumbered by a couple thousand men. Kreios watches men from both sides drop like flies as he weaves in between spaces, dodging the blows that come his way. Kreios strikes his spear a couple of times out of defense, wounding men deeply enough for injury, but not enough to kill.

Kreios finds his way to the side of the citadel. He searches the scuffle for any signs of _him_ , yet he cannot seem to find a familiar face. He scans the layer of dead bodies, dirtied by the earth. Kreios feels his heart beating so loud that his armor shakes, ever so slightly. _What if he’s dead? What if we were too late?_

“Kreios, look out! Behind you!” he hears Aegeus’s voice, loud and in alarum. His eyes tracing a line to the back of Kreios’ head.

He spots the shadow of his opponent, ghosting from behind, closing in on him. Kreios’ knees quiver slightly. He knows he cannot dodge this attack like he did with the previous. It is fight of flight. And Kreios chooses the former.

Acting instinct, Kreios whips his body backward and thrusts his spear right through the enemy’s chest plate— the clashing of metal creating a sharp noise that makes Kerios cringe. His own armor is brushed with crimson red, streaming down from his spear to his palm. Kreios recoils in anticipation for the enemy’s attack. But it never comes.

Kreios looks up at his enemy’s face, staring back him with glassy eyes. He knows this face— squared jaw, dark eyes, and the kind of smile reserved only for him. He has found Dareus.  
It comes in a series of flashes. Like lightning striking the ground. Kreios frozen, his face painted with every shade of horror. Dareus tumbling to his side, clutching his chest in an attempt to stop the bleeding. The sound of Kreios’ weapons clanging on the ground. A cry escaping from his lips.

Kreios’ knees finally give in and touch the ground. He clutches Dareus in his arms, clasping the bloody wound on his chest.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Kreios’ voice is shaky, his words muffled by his sobs. Dareaus looks at him with eyes fighting to stay open and a weary smile.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Dareaus chuckles weakly. His voice is course, roughened by the thick blood rousing from his throat. “I wasn’t going to let any of them kill me. Not before I could see you again.”

“I promised.”

Kreios’ tears spatter on Dareaus’ face, washing away traces of blood and dust. “I can get bandages! We can wrap your wounds and you’ll be okay—”  
Dareaus grips his wrist weakly, “I’ve lost too much blood, Kreios. It’s not your fault. I should have—”

Dareaus coughs harshly. His blood trailing down his lips. “Just stay with me. Just until my last breath.”

Kreios doesn’t say anything. Not that there was anything left he could say. Dareaus closes his eyes and Kreios closes his. He leans down just enough for their foreheads to touch. Kreios listens to Dareus’ short breaths deteriorating by the second.

  
“I love you” Dareaus whispers in a low voice.

  
“I love you, too” Kreios says with one final tear falling like a raindrop on his lover’s face. Dareus breathes in. But, he doesn’t breathe out.  
Kreios presses his fingers on Dareus eyelids and lowers them gently.

“I’ll see you in the next life”

 

\--

The day after, Troy was no more. The city was covered in a blanket of ash, mixed with the blood of its men.  They say that no Trojan soldier was given a proper burial, in spite of the Trojan’s pleas.

Yet, somewhere in the outskirts of the fallen city, there lays the body of a single Trojan soldier. Marked by a single wooden cross. And a broken spear jutting from the ground.


	3. Lower Manhattan, New York City | September 2001

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Love is a Place by Metric

**[two: Lower Manhattan, New York City | September 2001]**

Somewhere by a corner street in Lower Manhattan stands a quaint little flower shop filled with light and love. Its regulars can attest that there is something about the tiny shop by West Street that gives it its warm glow. Some say it was the scent of flowers drawing them in, even from a mile away. Others argues it was the rosewood interior and shelves filled with potted plants of all sorts that made it feel quite like home. Or, maybe it was the charming boy with hair the color of moonbeam who would always stop to wish you a good morning, or offer flowers to passersby who seemed to be having a bad day. Whatever the reason, people always seemed to be coming back to _Asters_.

It’s a Tuesday morning and, as usual, Kip is cutting flowers in the nook behind the counter. For today, its zinnias—his favorite. People often ask him why he decided to become a full-time florist at the age of twenty-four. Or, if he had any other plans for the future aside from flower work. As if the thought of being a florist for the rest of his life was barely an option.

But, Kip never minded answering the same questions with the same kind smile. “These flowers are my life, really”, he would say with not a trace of shame.

The sound of chimes singing fill the air, signaling the arrival of a new customer. Kip peeks from behind the desk and finds himself faced with a rather bulky young man clad in a suit and tie he knew all too well. The boy leans over the counter and rests his chin upon his palm. He flashes Kip the brightest of smiles, forming a dimple on his cheek. Kip can’t help but smile in return as he places the bundle of zinnias on the counter top.

“It’s you again” Kip lets out with a light chuckle. He hoists himself up to meet him with cheeks mimicking the color of carnations.

“Welcome back, Damien”

“You bet it’s me!” Damien winks at him playfully, “I’d like to place an order for a bouquet of asters for pick up this afternoon.”

“It’s a special occasion, you see” Damien fiddles with the petals of the zinnias, “They’re my boyfriend’s favorite. It’s kind of tradition, really.”

“I’ll have them ready by four o’clock” Kip fights the urge to let out a laugh, “And, your boyfriend must be a very lucky guy.”

Damien’s smile melts into a softer one as he stands back up. He stares as Kip with the most solemn expression, his eyes fixated only on Kip.

“Do they still ask you?” Damien says, almost like a whisper, “Do you ever tell them?”

“Why the shop is named as such?” Kip asks, to which Damien nods. He grabs a single zinnia from the pile and offers it to him.

 “All the time”

“What do you tell them?” Damien takes the flower in his hand and twirls them in between his fingers, “That it’s because asters are your favorite, right?”

“That asters were the first kind of flowers I’ve ever received” Kip offers. Damien looks at him with light in his eyes and his lips pressed together, in a futile effort to fight back a smile.

“You never forgot” Damien says.

The corner of Kip’s lips curl slightly, “Neither did you.”

Damien peers at the clock hanging on the wall, and then at the watch on his wrist. “I have to get to work! It gets bit congested in front of the World Trade Center at this hour. Don’t wanna be late for that big meeting with the clients from Japan.”

“I’ll pick you up at four?” Damien says, not that it’s much of a question. Kip rests his hand on Damien’s hand and traces the creases on his fingers.

“Four sounds perfect!”

Damien leans over the counter and presses his lips against Kip’s forehead. “I’ll see you later, love.”

“See you later.”

Damien grabs his suit case and squeezes Kip’s hand one last time before making his way to the door. But, just as Kip was ready to utter good bye, Damien turns around with a cheeky smile.

“Happy September 11th.” He beams, as the sunrays collide against his skin, forming his shadow on the rosewood floor.

“Happy anniversary to you, too” Kip says with the same kind of smile. Damien gives him one last look, and closes the door to the shop.


End file.
